


Strongman

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, One-Shot, Season 3 Speculation, Season 3 Spoilers, i blame this entire thing on Oliver's multitasking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  <i>Diggle stopped short and looked up to find Oliver standing near Felicity’s empty workstation, in full green leather badass regalia, with his hands on his hips. Dig glanced around, intent on identifying the cause for such strange behavior. Because Oliver was nothing if not a broody bastard, and seeing him in this strange state of… happiness? It set off alarm bells.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Strongman

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: To katelinnae and carogables for excellent beta work that this most desperately needed, and youguysimserious for the squeeful fangirling and the encouragement.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: these characters belong to DC and the show producers, not me. Title from Luscious Jackson's Strongman, which was on when I started writing this.

Diggle made it all the way to the floor of the lair by feel, staring, as he was, at the text from Lyla. 

Or, more accurately, staring at the sonogram she’d texted him. Sure, he had the printout tucked safely in his wallet, but God help him if he could tear his attention from the picture once she sent it electronically as well.

But gazing adoringly at a picture of his son or daughter -- and those words really still just left him so off-balance -- was edging a little too close to sap territory. So he closed the picture and Lyla’s text and then tucked his phone into his pocket as he stepped off the last stair.

“Dig!” Oliver greeted. He sounded positively… cheerful?

Diggle stopped short and looked up to find Oliver standing near Felicity’s empty workstation, in full green leather badass regalia, with his hands on his hips. Dig glanced around, intent on identifying the cause for such strange behavior. Because Oliver was nothing if not a broody bastard, and seeing him in this strange state of… happiness? It set off alarm bells.

No one else was in the lair, as far as Dig could tell. No whining from Roy as he practiced with a bow. No Felicity typing eagerly at her workstation. Just Oliver, apparently, and the man was -- well, there were no two ways about it, Oliver Queen was positively beaming.

It was a little unnerving. “What’s going on?” Diggle asked, trying to keep his trepidation out of his voice.

Oliver nodded a bit, clearly trying to get a handle on… whatever the hell was going on with him. But all that happened was that instead of a broad grin, he had a strange, half-happy, half-tortured look on his face when he said, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Narrowing his eyes, Diggle agreed, a little reluctantly. “Okay.” But he was pretty sure he didn’t want any part of whatever Oliver was trying to tell him.

“It’s a good thing,” Oliver said, glancing at Felicity’s empty chair. And then Oliver was smiling again. Just… smiling.

Diggle wasn’t sure what to say.

Which was apparently fine, since Oliver kept right on talking even as his smile faded, replaced with what Dig thought might be nervousness. “I hope you’ll agree, actually,” Oliver added, shifting his weight. 

Yup. Definitely nervous. And something that made Oliver nervous and want to talk things through? That was not going to be good. 

“Oliver…” Diggle paused, glancing around for clues. Because he was running through some possibilities, but other than the two of them, the lair was empty, so he couldn’t look to Felicity for help. There were no obvious signs of Oliver popping ecstasy. Psychotic break, maybe? 

“I just thought you deserved to know,” Oliver continued, looking down at his hands with a small grin. “Since you’re basically her brother.” 

Basically her--? Felicity. 

Shit. 

The picture was starting to come together, and Diggle was 50/50 on whether he was going to like or hate whatever Oliver said next. Because this was about Felicity.

Diggle reassessed the situation. Considered the possible fallout -- it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming for a damn long country mile. Still, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Didn’t want to get pissed at Oliver for falling thoughtlessly into bed with the best damn thing that ever happened to him. Didn’t want to assume the worst of Oliver, who really was trying to be a better man. 

But what Diggle _really_ didn’t want was a tearful Felicity on his couch when it all went sideways. 

Though Oliver’s general state of -- what, giddiness? -- suggested he wasn’t about to confess to Diggle about a careless night; it seemed more… real than that. Dig decided he needed more information before he could figure out where to land on all of this. Oliver may have learned to trust his instincts, to react without conscious thought on that island, but Diggle was trained by the methodical United States armed services, and he knew that reacting to anything when you only had half of the information was the worst possible thing to do. 

Slowly, Diggle said, “You and Felicity--”

“We’re going on a date,” Oliver interrupted, and the broad smile on his face finally made sense. The man was -- he was over the damn moon. 

“Oh,” Dig said, letting the idea settle. A date. It was so… _normal_ , so not like the way Oliver had conducted his romantic affairs to this point that Diggle needed a moment to process. 

Oliver fixed that probing gaze on Diggle, holding himself carefully, the way he did when he was wary of an unpredictable reaction. “I asked her out,” he explained, seemingly concerned about how Dig would react to the news. “Nice restaurant, proper suit -- all of it.”

This attempt to start from the beginning, to do things right with Felicity -- it confirmed for Dig that Oliver’s emotional stability was continuing to improve. The man Diggle had met two years ago -- that man was in so much pain, was so closed off yet so desperate _not_ to be that he’d consistently misread any kind of human kindness as love. And he’d tried so hard to save everyone around him because he thought maybe if he did enough good for other people, one day he might be worth saving himself. _That_ man, Dig would’ve warned Felicity off of; this man? Well, maybe Oliver finally had his head on straight. Or at least a whole lot straighter than before.

“That’s great, man,” Dig decided, and he mostly meant it. The only thing holding him back from full-throated support was the potential for them crashing and burning. 

Oliver’s posture relaxed some, and he nodded. “It is. And I want you to know that nothing happening with Felicity and I will affect the team in any-- What?” Oliver demanded, eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you laughing?”

Waving off Oliver’s confusion, Diggle reined in his amusement. Oliver and Felicity becoming, well, Oliver-and-Felicity would introduce change and force readjustments among the team, of course it would. But Dig had no doubt they could all handle that. He was sure they’d all seen it coming, anyway, because Oliver and Felicity’s feelings for each other were more than obvious, regardless of their respective attempts to convince him they were simply platonic. All Dig knew was that he’d known Felicity just about as long as Oliver had, and she’d never in her life looked at him the way she sparkled at Oliver. Because Felicity and Dig _were_ actually platonic. 

Hell, Oliver wasn’t wrong -- she was basically his little sister. Which meant that he owed all potential suitors, even Oliver -- maybe even _especially_ Oliver -- a little frank conversation. “You’re really doing this?” he demanded, keeping his tone hard and even.

Oliver lifted his palms to the side, a strangely expansive gesture for such a controlled man, and said, “I’m done fighting this.”

Dig crossed his arms, shifted his stance just a bit, let a little bit of a warning creep into his voice. “I’m not sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound like a reason to _start_ something, it sounds like you’re giving in,” he began. “And Felicity damn well--”

“I love her,” Oliver interrupted. And he looked so calm, so convinced, so damn _happy_ that all Dig could do was stare at him. 

Diggle knew his mouth was hanging open a little bit but was unable to recover just yet. Because _he’d_ long suspected Oliver’s feelings for Felicity ran bone-deep, but he’d figured it’d take Oliver years to sort it out. And probably longer to admit it. 

Yet here he was, calmly declaring it. 

“You love her,” Diggle repeated.

Oliver looked again at her chair, at her workstation. “I do,” he answered, resolute, with that soft smile on his face that he only ever gave to Felicity. Turning back to Diggle, Oliver gestured vaguely at him. “You realize you deserve a lot of the credit, right?”

Almost involuntarily, Dig lifted his eyebrows. “How do you figure?” 

“Well, you and Lyla,” Oliver answered, that smile finally fading into something a different -- something like affection and maybe a bit of wistfulness. “You guys are able to reconcile danger and a personal life. It’s…” Oliver paused, frowning a bit as he struggled with words. “Admirable. And brave.”

Leaning a hip against a table, Dig shook his head, sensing that this was going to be a longer conversation than he’d anticipated. And maybe a heavier one than he was prepared for. “It’s just living, Oliver,” he said. “Nothing brave about that.”

“Of course there is. Being alone…” Oliver trailed off, his gaze sliding past Dig until he was staring into the middle distance the way he did when he was reliving some island horror. 

It happened less and less these days, and Diggle rarely worried that Oliver needed professional help with the PTSD. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where he’d put the card of the trauma specialist an old Army buddy had recommended to him, and he used to have that accessible at all times. Just in case. Dig had seen too many brothers-in-arms struggle when they came home, floundering in the jarring normality, unable to reconcile the constant stress of battle and the ingrained coping mechanisms they’d learned in country. He’d been pretty concerned about Oliver a few times, but he’d always managed to pull himself from the depths.

The man was ten times stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Diggle cleared his throat and offered, “Lonely?” Because whatever Oliver had been going to say, the truest description of being alone was being lonely. He suspected Oliver felt that isolation was just punishment for some of the harsher things he’d had to do to survive.

Oliver’s gaze snapped back into focus. “I was going to say safer.”

Dig considered the statement from Oliver’s point of view. Leaving aside the myriad Queen family issues, Ivo and then Slade forcing Oliver to consider making impossible choices was reason enough for Oliver to come to that conclusion. Never mind five years’ worth of fight-or-flight self-protection.

Sighing, Dig said, “I get why that seemed to make sense to you on that island, Oliver, but here, you already have people in your life. To be alone the way you mean, you’d have to leave the city again.”

Oliver was already nodding. “I know. I don’t _want_ to be alone.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Felicity’s empty chair once more. “I just… I thought I had to be.”

Dig wondered just how much brutal honesty Oliver could take. At least when it came to Felicity. He wondered if Oliver realized she’d figured all of this out long before he had. 

Although normally focused on his mission to the point of tunnel vision, occasionally Oliver could be pretty perceptive about the things going on around him. Every once in a while he would ask an incisive question, or offer the assurances that Sara or Roy or Felicity needed without having to be nudged by Diggle. It was still rare enough to surprise the rest of the team. Unfortunately for Dig, today appeared to be one of those times when Oliver actually _was_ paying attention to non-mission-related things. 

Oliver tilted his head a bit, studying Dig. “What?” he demanded, knowing somehow that Diggle had something he maybe wanted to say.

Dig shifted against the table, half-sitting, resigning himself to a tough conversation. He didn’t know how it would go -- Oliver could be very defensive when he was pushed. But if Oliver and Felicity were really doing this, really going all in, Diggle felt he owed it to the both of them to make sure Oliver had made his peace with what, exactly, that meant. 

“Lyla could die any day,” Diggle began, purposefully blunt -- ruthlessly ignoring the way his stomach roiled at the thought.

Oliver’s expression tightened and he shook his head, just a bit. “Dig--”

“I don’t meant the trite, she-could-get-hit-by-a-bus thing, either,” Diggle continued, mostly ignoring Oliver’s reactions. Because Dig would say his piece, and Oliver would listen. “We both have enemies. We both have dangerous jobs.”

“I know,” Oliver answered, but he obviously didn’t understand what Diggle was getting at.

“This great thing we have,” Dig continued, and his voice sounded terrible all of a sudden, like he’d swallowed hot coals, but he pushed on. “It could end tragically. That doesn’t mean I should push her away. It means I should pull her closer.” He shrugged awkwardly. Damn, he was terrible at these kinds of conversations. “So I have.”

Oliver grinned at him. “See what I mean? Brave.”

Dig laughed, still sounding a little rusty. Then he sobered, trying to get his point across. “What you’re not getting is that if I lost her tomorrow, it would kill me either way -- if I was with her or not.” He paused, had to look away to gather himself. “When I was watching Felicity’s place before Slade,” he continued slowly, “she brought me hot chocolate and told me to go home.”

Oliver’s entire body tightened with anger. “Did you--?”

“I stayed, Oliver, of course I did,” Dig interrupted, exasperated. “My point is Felicity told me to leave because if Slade wanted to kill her, he could. He _would_.” 

Oliver’s expression shifted into one of such pure misery that Diggle second-guessed his decision to relay Felicity’s words. Oliver dropped his face into his hands, muttering something too muffled for Dig to understand.

Diggle rubbed a hand over his face, trying to forget all the ways Oliver’s desperate plan could have gone terrible, horribly wrong. “Look, man,” Dig said quietly, “she had a point.”

“What?” Oliver jerked his head up, wide, stunned eyes on Diggle.

Dig tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, all but praying for patience. “Felicity knew that if she stopped living her life because of what _might_ happen, Slade already won,” he answered, bringing his gaze back to Oliver.

Oliver looked away, his jaw clenching as he processed. He studied his hands for a long moment. “It’s hard,” he admitted finally, his voice sounding about as terrible as Dig’s when he talked about the possibility of losing Lyla. “Thinking about how everything could fall apart.”

“So don’t,” Dig shot back.

Oliver gave him a blistering look. It may have sounded flip, but Diggle meant it earnestly. Obsessing over the worst kinds of what-ifs was a pretty good way of messing yourself up.

“Look,” Dig said, hoping logic would get through to Oliver, “you already feel how you feel. It would kill you either way, Oliver. Just -- don’t push her away because life is unpredictable.”

“I’m not,” Oliver answered roughly. “I won’t.”

Dig nodded. “I just… She already figured all of this out. She sends you into danger every night knowing you could be hurt or worse. She loves you anyway.”

Oliver turned away, but even with his face in profile, Diggle could see that Oliver was blinking rapidly, his lips pressed tightly together as he struggled for control. 

From his reaction, Diggle guessed that Oliver hadn’t let himself consider whether Felicity loved him. Sure, she was attracted to him; always had been. But Diggle knew -- and Oliver _should have_ known -- that Felicity wouldn’t have pushed him so hard, wouldn’t have challenged him to be a better man, wouldn’t have supported him so completely if she didn’t love him. Dig sighed. “Oliver--”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, his voice still rough and a little unsteady. “Yeah, okay.”

Diggle considered pushing the issue. Considered boxing Oliver’s ears, too, for being a self-doubting idiot when it came to Felicity. But Oliver needed her to tell him that before he’d believe it. Before -- _Diggle hoped_ \-- Oliver would believe it.

“I’m happy for you guys, man,” Dig said instead. “Really. This has been pretty inevitable for a while now. Just be careful with her.” Goddamn, he was terrible at this. “Make sure you keep your overprotectiveness in check.”

“My what?” Oliver demanded, sounding honestly confused as he turned back to face Diggle. 

Dig bit back a chuckle. “Oh, please, Oliver. You already would prefer to wrap her in cotton and keep her in here.”

Oliver had the decency to flush, just a little bit. “I’m… working on that,” he answered carefully, the slightest hint of amusement in his face.

After a long moment, Dig nodded. “Okay then.”

Oliver’s gaze snapped back to Dig’s. “Okay then?” he echoed, and Diggle could tell that ridiculous grin was about to make its reappearance. 

“Yup,” Dig said, pushing off the desk and heading towards the training area. Because he’d had about enough of the _talking_ and the _emotions_ and especially Oliver’s beaming happiness. He really was glad for them both, but, God, he wanted to hit something. “Good talk,” he added sarcastically.

Behind him, Oliver laughed just a bit. “Thanks, Dig.”

“Oh, and Oliver?” Diggle paused and turned back, waiting for Oliver to face him fully.

“Yeah?”

He poured every bit of big-brotherly affection he had for Felicity into his voice when he answered, “Don’t fuck this up.”

END


End file.
